


Skinless

by Imasupermuteant



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: A softer world - Freeform, Angst, M/M, Sex Pollen, utter lack of continuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imasupermuteant/pseuds/Imasupermuteant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When I am dressed I just want to be naked. When I am naked I just want to have no skin.</p>
<p>I think I took too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 

They find him huddled in the back of the cave, by the cars, wearing his mask and the belt (as per Bat Commandment #6: Never loose the belt) and nothing else. He's sweating bullets, his skin reddened and, Dick suspects, cold to the touch. He's shaking too, not shivering so much as twitching individual sections of skin like a horse on a particularly buggy day.

"Stop!" He shouts when Dick moves closer.

"Tim." There's a protocol for this, and Dick is using it to his best ability, sinking into a low crouch and keeping his voice low and calm. It doesn't seem to be working very well.

"Don't come closer." Tim says in a voice that would, on any other teenager, seem calm. "I've already been compromised."

Tim drags his hand along his arm and Dick notices a collection of long, red welts which must have been caused by his nails. He feels a little sick to his stomach at the realization that Tim's skin isn't red because of a fever, as he had surmised, but because the kid's been clawing and rubbing at his skin for who knows how long.

"That's right Tim." He says steadily, for all that the flash of Tim's dilated pupils strikes him with fear, "You've been compromised. You need to let me sedate you so we can counteract the drug in your system." 

"Unfeasible. You don't know where I've been." Tim responds, Dick notes the further descent in to paranoia and the fact that Tim's eyes are tracking in a manner that makes Dick want to reach out and grab him. He knows that's not the right move. The drug in Tim's system, whatever the hell it is, has put his reaction-time and physical strength far above his normal basal rate. A sudden move on Dick's part could trigger Tim into a movement that would tear his muscles or put him into cardiac arrest. 

Dick breathes and waits while Tim scratches at his forearms and twitches.

"I ruined it." Tim tells him, meeting his eyes for a millisecond before blinking down to the floor, "It's broken."

"Tim, you need to calm down."

"I _broke_ it, Dick!" Tim shouts, reaching up to tear a handful of hair out by the roots.

"Bruce--"

" _Batman_."

"Batman is getting the med center ready right now.

"He'll know." 

"He knows you've been compromised, Timmy, that's why he's getting the med center ready." Dick's trying to keep his voice calm and collected even as he slides closer to Tim's huddled form.

"No!" Tim cries, "He'll _know_."

"He knows Tim, he's right behind us..."

" _Stay back!_ " Dick stops. Takes a deep breath. He's managed to get a hand on one of the strands of hair that Tim ripped out a little earlier and he slides it into an evidence bag before pushing it behind him. He knows without looking that Bruce will pick it up and run as many tests as possible. He can only hope that there's some blood on the shaft. 

Tim's not crying, quite, but there's a strange cracking noise coming from his throat that's just this side of a scream and Dick can see him driving his nails into his palm. There's blood on the floor under Tim's feet and Dick find himself wishing he could get the kid to move so that Bruce could pick a up a sample. Tim's made it clear that he's not going anywhere.

"I broke--"

"I'm right here, little brother," Dick breaths, "I'm right here, you just have to let me a little closer."

"I _broke_ \--" Tim slams he head against the wall, he's shaking more now and scratching at his chest where his heart is. A heart, Dick knows, which is becoming severely strained.

"What did you break?" Dick asks, taking the opportunity to slide ever closer.

Tim makes a noise that's something between a scream and gravel on glass, his eyes are tracking in a way that tells Dick he isn't seeing much of anything anymore. 

"-- _Him_ " 

"One of Isley's compounds." Bruces voice echos from behind them, deep and calming even as Dick's stomach jumps into his throat, "Number B58. He's in stage three." 

_Stage three?_ Dick thinks, _Ivy?_

"I took--" Tim is beginning to hyperventilate and some clinical piece of Dick's mind is counting down the seconds until Tim's heart gives out.

"You have to let me-- _Tim_." Dick moves closer and Tim, thankfully, doesn't seem to notice.

"Oh god." Tim gasps, "Oh god _Kon_."

Dick takes his chance, moving in to jab Tim sharply in the arm with the sedative. There's a lot more to be done before Tim is well again. A lot more to be done before whatever Tim _did_ is well again because _fuck, Poison Ivy_.

Tim's breathing slows down, his nails still digging into his skin. Dick moves to catch him, cradling his adoptive brother in his arms as he carries him towards the table and the waiting crash cart.

"I took to much." Tim whispers.

Dick has a feeling he's not talking about the drug.


	2. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Drake has a lot of things to feel guilty about, and not all of it has to do with what happened three weeks ago. He's guilty about lying to his parents and his teammates, guilty about the way he's treated Stephanie, guilty about breaking that mugger's jaw a few days back, guilty about...

It's all overshadowed by the sick twisted feeling he gets in his stomach every time he remembers the look on Kon's face that night. What Tim had said, the things he _did_.

He'd spent the first week and a half after (what he _did_ ) the contamination at home or in the cave, filing reports and cleaning up the mainframe and feeling like a monster.

The second and third weeks followed in a similar manner, except that he was on the streets and taking his (guilt) frustrations out on the entire criminal population of Gotham.

Dick had stopped by last Thursday (and Tuesday, and the Wednesday before that) in order to give Tim heartfelt hugs and really disgusting homemade cookies that Tim eats anyway because they make him feel better. 

He hasn't been to the tower since that night and he's received fifty-two emails from Bart on the subject. He hasn't replied to a single one but he also hasn't deleted them and he periodically goes through and reads them in a sort of masochistic self-harm ritual that takes up a good thirty minutes of his evening.

The most recent one reads as follows:

_From: thefastestkidalive@teentitans.net  
To: al.draper@secureserver.com_

_Douchebag,_

_I don't know what the fuck is going on but Wally says that Batman says that you're alive and conscious so you must be avoiding us. Kon has moped FOR WEEKS. We are all v. pissed off._

_Come home._

Another email appears in Tim's folder as he finishes reading, but it is short and to the point, saying "FUCKER" in bold, shiny text with a gif of little flash lighting bolts surrounding it.

Tim saves every email to an encrypted hard drive. He's read most of them more than twice at this point. It's nearly five, late even for a bat, and Tim hasn't slept since his patrol two nights ago.

He's starting to feel more than a little bleary and the words are blurring on the screen but Tim isn't ready for sleep yet. 

He sometimes wonders if he'll ever be ready for sleep again.

Somewhere in between blinks Tim realizes that he's opened a blank email and addressed it to Kon without any conscious decision to do so. It stares at him, mocking, resentful.

_Dear Kon,_

He deletes it.

_Kon-El,_

He deletes it again.

_Conner--_

With a frustrated growl Tim jabs down on the backspace key and slams his head down on the keyboard. He's tired. He's so tired he feels _drunk_ and his vision is swimming and he feels as though he's about to cry.

He won't cry, he knows it, because he hasn't cried since the contaminant worked it's way out of his skin and even then... 

...Well, suffice to say that Tim doesn't cry much even when he's in the later (psychotropic) stages of pollen-poisoning after having ( _oh god_ ) practically raped his best friend. He slams his head down on the keyboard again because it makes his thoughts quieter and because he can.

He's suddenly pretty sure that he's lost some time because just a minute ago he was taking his frustrations out on his forehead and now he's resting on the arm of the chair and the screen of the computer looks different.

Tim blinks. The screen looks different. He blinks again and realized.

He's sent an email.

"Fuck." He curses to himself, opening up his sent mail to see how bad the damage is. He _did_ send something to Kon while he was sleep-typing and...

...The content of the email no longer matters because Kon is standing in the middle of his bedroom wearing Flash boxer shorts and an old T-shirt. It's clear that he's flown the whole way from Kansas in his pajamas and now he's in Tim's room and Tim doesn't know what to do.

"Kon..."

"Were you telling the truth?" Kon asks him in a cold and steely super-voice that is so unlike his own it makes Tim shudder.

"What?"

"What you said when... When you were drugged. Did you mean it?"

"I don't remember what I said. I just... I remember I had kryptonite and..."

"Think about it." Tim feels himself wishing Kon's heat-vision would kick in so he wouldn't have to suffer that _look_ anymore.

"I..." He thinks, pressing his sleep-deprived mind to remember exactly what he's been trying to forget for the past few weeks.

He's thankful for all the memory exercises he's done with Batman over the years because he _does_ remember those three words among the mass of heat and violence and lust.

"Oh, _Kon_ " He whispers.

"Did you mean it, Tim?" Kon asks again.

"Of course I meant it! I didn't lie." Tim sighs, "After everything I _did_ do it doesn't mean much but... I didn't lie to you."

Something in Kon's eyes softens and Tim feels, for the first time in a long while, like he can breathe again.

"I don't forgive you yet." Kon tells him.

Tim nods. It's understandable.

"...You're coming to the tower tomorrow right?"

"Sure." It's awkward but the awkwardness is infinitely preferable to the crushing weight of Kon's anger and his own guilt.

"Ok then." 

Kon has been gone for nearly a minute before Tim registers that the tingling of his lips is the result of a super-fast kiss. He brushes his fingers over them as he heads for the bed and collapses, on top of the covers and fully clothes, into the first restful sleep he's had since this whole mess began.

A half an hour later his computer cycles into sleep mode, obscuring the email he had never consciously read.

 

 

_from: al.draper@secureserver.com  
to: connerkent@dailyplanet.net_

_I'm sorry. I love you._

_\--Tim_


End file.
